by Lyn Stone
“It’s broad daylight,” Robin reminded herself. “And this is Nashville, not New York. The crime rate here must be low.” But it wasn’t exactly that, now was it? James had been murdered in his own home just last evening. And two men had burst into the diner in a robbery attempt.
No matter how much she scoffed at herself or tried to explain away the visitor, Robin could not dismiss her fear. Someone had tried to enter the apartment without knocking first. And she was alone and unarmed. What if they came back, bringing some means to get through the door?
What were they after? Was it those same men from last night, perhaps after James’s disk?
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs again. This time whoever it was did not care whether she heard him! Terror mounted. She rushed through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Hurriedly she closed the door and realized there was no lock on it. “Oh, no!” she moaned.
Recalling Mitch’s order to get under the table when they were accosted in the diner, Robin knew she had to find a place to hide. She yanked open the large double cabinet beneath the sink and crawled inside. God, she was too large for this! She wound her body around the pipes, wedged half underneath them, and drew up her knees so the doors would shut. It was a much tighter fit than beneath that table in the booth last night. Plus, she had nothing at all to use for a weapon now. Not even a can of hair spray.
She held her breath, trying not to gasp so loudly that she would give away her location. Her only hope was that the intruder would believe she had left the apartment.
Even inside the cabinet with the bathroom door shut, she heard the footsteps on the hardwood floors, then muffled cursing, coming closer.
Her lungs were bursting, but she dared not take a breath or she would scream her head off. The bathroom door swung open with the loud, prolonged squeak she remembered from earlier, like a sound effect from an old horror film.
Robin froze, squeezed her eyes shut and moved only her lips in silent entreaty, “Please, please, please, please…”
Both cabinet doors flew wide, and she felt the instant rush of cool air on her face and legs.
“What the hell?” A deep voice thundered.
Hell. With two sweet syllables. Robin unclenched her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and began to laugh.
It took considerably longer to get out of her hiding place than it had to wedge herself in. By the time she managed to crawl out, her hysteria had subsided.
She sat there on the fluffy throw rug trying to catch her breath. Mitch was kneeling beside her, brushing dust bunnies off her arms and shoulders. “Was that you before?” she demanded. “Did you try the door earlier?”
His hands stilled and his intense blue gaze fastened on her at close range. Robin’s heartbeat accelerated dangerously. “No, I just got here. Tell me what happened.”
She did, including her panicked response and how foolish she felt about it now.
He simply listened but didn’t comment. When Robin had finished, he stood and offered her his hand to get up. While they were walking through the bedroom to the living room, he asked, “When you entered Andrews’s apartment last night, did you close the door behind you?”
“No.” She was certain she hadn’t. “I saw James the moment I entered. I set down my bag and computer—dropped them, I think—and ran straight to him.”
“Didn’t you worry that the one who attacked him might still have been there?” he asked.
She lowered herself to the sofa and leaned back. He sat near her, turned sideways, facing her, intent on her answer.
Robin thought back. “No, that didn’t even occur to me. At first I didn’t realize what had happened. He was lying there and I saw the blood. So much of it.” She shuddered. “I thought he had fallen and hit his head.”
“Go on,” he encouraged her. “I know this seems repetitive, but it’s very important, Robin. This time I want to hear not only what actually happened, but tell me your feelings. What ran through your mind?”
She nodded. “I cried out his name as I ran over to him, then knelt down and felt for his pulse. I knew, though. I knew he was dead before I touched him. That…that round hole in his…head. That’s when I saw the gun lying there on the floor and thought he had shot himself. I reached for it without thinking. Then I put it down, horrified. When I glanced up at the room and noticed the wreck someone had made of it, I thought, Not suicide.”
“And then?”
“On hands and knees I scrambled over to the phone, the one on the end table, and dialed 911. My hands were shaking so I could hardly hold on to it. The woman who answered told me to stay on the line, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just sit there so close to James and see him…I felt sick, but knew I couldn’t leave. I had to wait for the police. So I got up and ran into the bedroom. That’s where I was when they came. They told me to stay where I was. Where you found me.”
“Did you hang up, Robin? Did you replace the receiver on the handset?”
She concentrated, tried to recall the exact sequence of events. “I don’t think so…no, I just put it down. I think.” She met his frown. “Wouldn’t the police officers know? The ones who came in first?”
He squeezed her arm gently where he’d been resting his hand on it just above her elbow. “Sure, they can tell me. Could you see the door to the living room from where you were sitting, Robin?”
“I didn’t look back in there,” she admitted. I covered my face with my hands after I sat down. I just couldn’t look.”
“That’s okay,” he told her softly. “It’s probably best that you didn’t.”
“But wait,” she said, grasping his sleeve, hardly aware of what she was doing. “I did look, didn’t I? Yes, after you came. Remember when I asked you if they would cover him? I couldn’t see the front door. I’m certain I couldn’t.”
“I don’t want to frighten you more, Robin, but I think someone was still there. The door was closed when the officers arrived.”
“Yes,” she said, wide-eyed with fear of what could have happened to her. “Now I remember! The policemen knocked loudly and identified themselves. I called out for them to come in. Oh, God, the murderer was there, wasn’t he? He was still there, hiding, and then left before they arrived!”
He nodded. “Either behind the door or in the coat closet beside it. I think he left as soon as you went into the other room. And he took your computer and suitcase with him. That disk you have, the one James asked you to bring him? I believe that’s what he thought he would find.”
She watched as Mitch retrieved her purse and withdrew the plastic case from inside it. He held it up and read the colorful insert. “Classical Interludes?” he said, turning it over in his hand.
“The disk was in a clear sleeve so it wouldn’t take up so much room in the safety deposit box. I was afraid it might get damaged in my purse so I placed it in that heavy plastic jewel case to protect it. I keep my CDs for the computer files in a folder so I didn’t have any extra cases lying around. I took out a musical one and used that.”
“He had it in a safety deposit box.” Mitch’s brows drew together, and his lips firmed. “He must have considered this pretty important. If I’m right, it could be something worth killing for and could give us a clue about who was so hot to have it.”
If what Mitch said was true, that meant James was mixed up in something dangerous and had been even when they’d been together in New York. She simply couldn’t imagine that.
She shook her head. “Believe me, James was not the type to take any risks. If you’re thinking he was caught up in something that could cost him his life, you’re sadly mistaken. Everything he did was so precise and well-thought-out it drove me crazy. He never entertained a spontaneous thought that I know of.”
“I got the impression that he married you on impulse.”
Robin sighed and looked away from his piercing glare. “No, that was strictly my impulse. James constructed a dedicated campaign to convince me we should. It took a year before I fina
lly caved. The whim was mine, not his.” She added without thinking, “Even the affairs he had later were deliberately arranged so that I couldn’t help but find out.”
“Affairs? More than one?” Mitch asked casually. Too casually for Robin not to realize he considered it crucial. She had just admitted to yet another motive he could use against her, but she had gone too far not to finish the explanation.
“Yes. Apparently marriage proved too confining for him after a while, so he made certain I had excellent reasons to end it. He admitted it to me later and apologized.”
“And you accepted?” he asked in obvious disbelief. “You stayed friends with that—”
“Yes,” she told him firmly, cutting off what was about to be an insult. “You see, it really was at least half my fault that it didn’t work for us. I made him unhappy. In fact, I was relieved it was over between us because we could go back to the way things were before, when he was just my friend. I’m sure he was, too.”
Mitch huffed. “I think he was a damned jerk.”
Robin secretly agreed with him, in a way. But she had understood James better than any other man she’d ever known. He’d been weak and often selfish, but he had also been generous with his affection and praise, which she’d badly needed at the time. She knew the reasons behind his selfishness and her willingness to tolerate it until she had grown strong enough to resent it.
Simply, she and James had used each other to recover, and when that recovery finally took place, the marriage had unofficially ended. They discussed it, understood it and went on from there.
“Better the devil you know,” she muttered, not even realizing she’d spoken aloud until Mitch replied.
“I don’t think you knew this devil at all, Robin,” he told her as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “And I can almost understand if you did shoot him.”
“So you said. But I swear I didn’t do it.” Fear riffled through her, chilling her to the marrow. Did he still think she had killed James? She could see accusation of some kind in his eyes. Maybe it was only that he thought her a fool for allowing James to dupe her the way he’d done.
Would Mitch Winton, a man sworn to uphold the law, actually kiss a hand he believed might have wielded a murder weapon? What kind of cop would do such a thing? One hoping she was innocent? Or determined to prove guilty by using any means available?
“You’re a dangerous man to know,” she told him.
He released her hand and sat back, smiling a bitter smile. “Yeah, I can be that,” he admitted. “If I find out you’re jerking me around, you can count on it.”
Chapter 5
Mitch knew the value of intimidation and was in no way opposed to using it when the time was right. So why did it make him feel so rotten playing the big, bad cop with Robin? He knew she hadn’t killed James Andrews, but he did sense she was hiding something. Why didn’t he feel justified in shaking her up a little?
She broke eye contact and turned away from him. As if coming to a decision, she grabbed the disk and thrust it at him defiantly. “All right. If you must know, I looked at it.”
“So you already know what’s on it?” he asked as he took it from her.
At her guilty nod he asked, “So, what did you find? And be honest. I plan to pick it apart when I get to a computer.”
“Well, good luck,” she snapped impatiently. “There were names of some of his clients, numbers of their insurance accounts and a few pages of notes in a foreign language.”
“Interesting. What language?”
She stilled. “I don’t know. You don’t believe they’re insurance accounts like James said, do you?”
“People aren’t usually killed for a client list. What were the numbers like? How many in a sequence?”
Robin shrugged, rubbing her arms with her hands. After thinking for a minute, she shook her head. “I’m not sure. Nine beside each name, I think.”
Could be Social Security numbers. Or numbered bank accounts. Or simply what they appeared to be, insurance account numbers. But there would be time to worry about that later. He stuck the disk in the pocket of his jacket.
“You’d better stay with me tonight.”
She ignored the last suggestion as if he hadn’t made it. “You can take me to a hotel. I’ll be ready in a second.” She began looking around, bending over to check under the coffee table. “Have you seen my shoes?”
“I took your shoes,” he admitted.
She frowned up at him. “Why?”
“They look splendid with my beige suit. Why do you think, Robin?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut as she straightened and tugged down the hem of her skirt. “I’m sure I haven’t a clue.”
“I hope not. Kick would love it if your shoes provide one. There were traces of red dirt found on the carpet at the crime scene. Forensics will be analyzing your soles.”
“All right.” She curled up her toes, looking down at them as if she’d never seen them before. “So what do I do in the meantime?”
“Go barefoot,” he told her. There wasn’t much choice. Her feet weren’t exactly tiny, but she would never be able to wear any of his gunboats. Sandra might have left shoes in the closet, but she was a little bitty thing and wore a very small size.
Robin’s feet were long and narrow. So graceful, he thought to himself, hardly able to tear his eyes away from them. But he did. It was silly to sit there ogling a woman’s feet. He caught her watching him do it, too.
Her luscious lips firmed and he thought she might be about to cry. He couldn’t much blame her considering the night she’d had. And her day wasn’t promising to be much better. He reached out, took one of her hands and held it, offering what comfort he could without taking her in his arms the way he wanted.
“You won’t need shoes to go over to my place. What you need now is food, and I’ve got supper on already.”
“You cook?” she asked.
Mitch laughed self-consciously. “Yeah. My mama made it very clear when I moved out all those years ago that she wouldn’t tolerate my freeloading every meal. She gave me lessons and a set of cookware.”
Robin nodded knowingly. “I certainly can identify with that! My mother didn’t want me around, either, after I stopped being the breadwinner.”
“You were the breadwinner?” Mitch frowned.
“Well, I was all she had to work with after Dad left. Mother actually drove herself harder than I did. She managed my modeling career. When I quit, that also put her out of a job, so you can understand how upsetting that would be.”
“No, I don’t understand at all,” he argued. “She threw you out?”
Robin got up and paced over to the window. “Not physically, of course. I’m a lot larger than she is. But, yes, she did want me to go, so I went. Found my own apartment. Created a new life for myself. She left New York a few weeks later and bought a place in Florida.”
“And you visit on her birthday,” Mitch said, watching her reactions closely. “Are you closer now?”
She turned from the window and grimaced. “You’re the one who started this business about mothers. Do we need to get this in depth? We both got the boot when we went independent. What’s the big deal?”
“No big deal,” he said, forcing a smile, making himself abandon the subject she seemed to find difficult. “So, you gonna try my soup or what?”
She picked up her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Lead on, but I warn you it might be slow going. I’m not used to going barefoot outside, even for a short distance.”
Mitch already had the door open and was waiting for her to exit. “Not a problem. I’m just across the hall.”
She stopped. “What?”
“There,” he told her, inclining his head toward the door facing hers.
“When…when you said next door, I thought…”
He shrugged. “You assumed I meant in the next house, right? I knew you thought that, but I decided it might make you
uncomfortable having me just across the hall. Does it?”
She met his gaze and hers looked distinctly wary. “No, I suppose not. No one lives…with you, I take it?”
“Nope. I live alone.”
Robin was still questioning the advisability of staying with him when they reached his kitchen. The room was larger than the space allotted in Sandy’s apartment for cooking.
“It smells divine in here,” she commented. She plopped her purse on the counter and lifted the lid to his Crock-Pot for a closer sniff. “What is it?”
“Beef vegetable soup. Old family recipe. Please tell me you eat meat.”
She nodded and trailed her long delicate fingers along the counter as she continued to explore. Mitch pretended to ignore her snooping when she peeked into the pantry.
“Who lives downstairs?” she asked.
“Except for the foyer and parlor, the first floor is mostly gutted right now and waiting for me to remodel,” he told her. “I’m only renting to Sandy to help pay for the materials. Eventually, this will be a one-family dwelling again, the way it was originally intended.” He fished out his large cast-iron skillet and set it on the front burner of the stove. “The kitchen down there will be huge. Lots of counter space and a big island. I’m thinking about a walk-in fridge.”
She made herself comfortable on the stool at the end of the counter. “You’re bringing your family here to live with you?”
“Bite your tongue.” He laughed and plopped a small sack of cornmeal down beside the sink. “The Winton crew’s pretty big, though. When we all do get together, we need lots of room.”
“They come here often?” she asked, looking truly interested. He supposed she would be. It sounded as if she had very little family of her own. He ran hot water into the cornmeal and stirred it briskly.
“Not so much now, but I hope they’ll come over a lot when I get everything finished. That’s why I bought this place.”
“Ever been married?” she asked.
He grinned. “No, Miss Nosy.”
“Are you gay?”
